On Old Age

On Old Age

Being old or being invalid doesn’t prevent, hinder, block one to live a healthy, happy life. While being young doesn’t prevent one from illness, calamity, disaster, misfortune.

Tooth-ache, stomach-ache, is as hurting in young and old and so is a sore, heavy heart as painful and sad. Death is so terrible. There’s no one who would sacrifice his life for another, for a child however old he is, is there? “Yes there is”, says the Bible.

There was the toothless, wrinkled, old fruit vendor carrying his pikulan (two baskets on a bamboo stick on his shoulder), wearing a kopiah (Indonesian cap) looking as “ugly” and funny as Mang Cepot, the folk’s jester, living in Ciputat. Everyday he traveled as far as 25 km to Jakarta Pusat selling his fruits. His voice was still strong, his face cheerful, didn’t complain. He still danced the joget, a folk’s dance, crying out humorous pantun (spontaneous improvised verses) about his fruits along the way and teased, ran after the house maid in fun. Though he just ate very simple faire, he didn’t feel himself poor, or old. Remember, he too certainly was a lovely child on his mother’s lap before.

I had read the story of Helen Keller who was blind, deaf and mute, yet she could still obtain a doctor’s degree. Perhaps she’s “seeing” even more without eyes than many people who could see with their eyes open. If she could be granted to see even though just for a week, how grateful she would be.

Yet, invalids, so handicapped, don’t despair, aren’t distressed, feeling uneasy among people.

Young, old, or invalids, who can escape the road to old age? However, they all have the opportunity to a thousand and one joys and happiness:

Of celebrating the grandness of each day with all the living, to feast, enjoy the morn, the glorious rising sun. To be grateful for the rain, the coolness of the wind. To see the waving trees, the grandness of a starry sky, of sailing clouds, the charm of a rippling lake, the peaceful moon. To breathe the soft, delicious scent of Mahoni blossoms, or hear the sad plucking sounds of the kecapi (Indonesian harp) accompany a bamboo flute. And dine, drink, create, write, play, dance, sing, love … and have a sound sleep. Even baby is happy, nestling in its mother’s bosom.

And tired after life’s traveling, how peaceful to rest in Mother Earth.

From Media Indonesia January 16, 1991